


grow ourselves new skin

by CS_WhiteWolf



Category: Bones (TV), Criminal Minds
Genre: Comfort, Gen, M/M, Nightmares, psychological/psychogenic pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CS_WhiteWolf/pseuds/CS_WhiteWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zack wakes from a nightmare, Spencer is there to help him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	grow ourselves new skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yunmin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Weight of Our Lost Bones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709702) by [yunmin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin). 



> I came across yunmin's Zack/Spencer fics quite accidently whilst trawling the Criminal Minds tag the other week, and fell inlove immediately. The way the boys are written just comes across as being so perfectly believable and true to both their characters, and I found myself quite inspired to try my hand after the idea of this scene wouldn't leave me alone. 
> 
> Loosely set in yunmin's 'Smile' verse, but there are no spoilers and you don't need to have read the series to understand this piece (though I wholeheartedly recommend that you do!), if you are reading the series however, I envisage this piece taking place, say, three-and-a half weeks before the start of 'The Weight of Our Lost Bones' ;)
> 
> I also took liberties with the nature of Zack's nightmares that have no bearing on yunmin's series.

Zack woke with a full body jolt; his eyes wide and unseeing as he lay in terrified stillness and wait, the remnants of his dream still playing in horrifying technicolour as if the images had been burnt upon his retinas. His hands cramped, curled into claws at his sides and he bit at the insides of his mouth to keep his whimpers of pain at bay. He could feel his heart thundering loudly against his chest, the sound not quite loud enough to drown out the imagined screams he could still feel ringing in his ears and he bit a little harder, praying for the last dregs of his nightmarish dream to fade enough for him to move, to unfreeze himself from the trappings of his own mind and realise that he was safe, safe at home and in bed and that there was no one here who could hurt him.

"-you're okay, you're okay, Zack, it's just a dream-" 

The sound of a voice nearby slowly penetrated through the cacophony of sounds ringing through his mind but it wasn't until he felt the touch of a hand to his arm, fingers curling in and clutching at his sweat-dampened skin that he found himself jerked violently into the present. He flinched bodily at the touch, whimpering out a moan as he tried to scramble away from the contact.

The hand immediately released him.

“Zack, it’s me- it's Spencer,” the voice quickly soothed. And Zack found himself blinking against the darkness, the light from the hallway barely enough to discern the features of the man before him though he recognised the voice.

His breath seemed to leave him in a whoosh and he found himself slumping back against the wall, feeling sick to his stomach. Spencer fumbled around his bedside a moment before finding the small lamp he kept on his side table. The closet lit up instantly and Zack flinched at the brightness, lifting clawed hands to cover his eyes.

"Zack?" Spencer called his name again, his gaze anxious and worried, his hands hovering but not quite touching as Zack squinted at him through his fingers. 

He knew him. It was Spencer Reid. It was Spencer. Spence. He was at home. He was in his own bed. He knew it had been a dream but...

Zack shuddered then, his fear draining away to be replaced by shame; shame at his timorous behaviour and childish reactions to something that was for all intents and purposes just a dream. He slanted his gaze away from the worried eyes watching him before pushing himself up by the elbows and shucking the sheets tangled around his legs. His hands he crossed at the wrist and held protectively close to his chest, the fingers still clawed, his scarred skin burning with the memory of pain.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he muttered. His voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Zack,” the hovering hands finally landed upon his shoulders and though Zack tensed he did not pull away from the touch. 

“I do not wish to talk about it.” 

“I’m not asking you to, I just want to know-,” Spencer paused, the words ‘if you’re okay?’ hanging unspoken in the air between them. What was the point in asking? They both knew he wasn’t. 

The sheets rustled as Spencer slid a little closer, his eyes searching Zack's face for answers he wouldn't get. Instead of asking about it, Spencer tugged him forward and Zack fell without resistance into Spencer's arms, shuddering again as he felt the heat of Spencer's body through the thin cotton of his t-shirt and instinctively pressed his face against his chest, encouraging Spencer to wrap his arms carefully around him- mindful of his hands- and hold him close.

“Your hands bothering you?” Spencer asked softly. Zack only nodded. Even in prison he'd had nightmares, debilitating dreams that left his hands clawed and aching. They'd tried to tell him the pain was psychosomatic, only there in his head, a manifestation of his guilt, but it was on nights like these, where Zack could feel the burn of his skin whilst still awake... 

Spencer gently extracted himself from Zack and padded his way out and into the yawning darkness of his apartment. 

Zack fell back against the wall, turning his eyes up towards the ceiling as he listened to the sounds coming from the kitchen: water running, cupboards opening and closing, a draw being jiggled back into place. They were familiar, if somewhat depressing sounds, because they meant he'd woken Spencer with another of his nightmares, because they meant Spencer would feel compelled to look after him and comfort him in lieu of his own rest. 

Spencer returned a few minutes later with a mug of cocoa and a bowl of steaming water. He placed the cocoa on the bedside table and the bowl in his lap as he seated himself on the bed before Zack once more. 

His hands were still clawed, shaking with tension and pain, but he let Spencer coax him into settling them inside the bowl, immersing the burning skin in water that should have been hot enough to flinch at but which worked to soothe the ache instead. Spencer's fingers were gentle against his wrists, holding his hands in place, his thumbs lightly pressing against his pulse points as they waited for the water to do its work, for the heat of it to slowly soak into his bones and release whatever rigidity kept them so disfigured.

Sometimes Zack would let him massage his hands: his fingers rubbing and kneading at each of his own, stroking across the thick scars lining his skin, and coaxing each hand back to normalcy. Tonight would not be one of those nights. 

“I thought the dreams had stopped,” Spencer commented. It wasn’t exactly a question but the look Zack shot him clearly said he didn’t want to talk about it either way. 

“It’s been a while since the last one,” he continued, encouragingly. Zack dropped his eyes to the water, to Spencer's hands holding fast. He licked his lips, feeling the start of a nervous tremour shiver its way through his body. 

“It has been that long since the last one, hasn’t it?” The question held doubt and Zack flicked his gaze up and away, unable to meet Spencer's eyes. 

Spencer sighed. “Zack, we have to talk about this. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.” He lifted a hand to touch at Zack's chin, nudging it upwards and forcing Zack to look at him. 

“Hey,” he called, smiling sadly. 

“Hey,” Zack returned, shivering. 

“You want to tell me what’s going on here?” He encouraged.

He shook his head. “Not really.” 

“Zack-,” Spencer sighed at the same time Zack begged: “Please don't."

He watched as Spencer pressed his mouth closed, lips pursing as he looked momentarily away. They never talked about their nightmares. Never forced each other to relive the terrors they saw when they closed their eyes. Please, please, Zack inwardly pleaded, please don't let them start now.

When Spencer looked back it was with another sad smile. He squeezed gently at Zack's wrists before drawing them from the water. He had a dishcloth slung over one shoulder and used that to carefully dry Zack's hands, smiling in encouragement as he twitched them carefully, flexing out the lingering stiffness.

"Thank you, Spencer." He said once his hands were dry and settled back into his lap. 

Spencer nodded, "You should drink your cocoa." 

He moved to stand then and Zack found himself reaching out, fingers sore but desperate as they clutched at his arm. He didn't say anything, barely dared to keep his eyes locked on Spencer's own as he searched his face for whatever answers he was looking for. 

"Come here," Spencer said a moment later, placing the bowl on the floor and opening his arms. Zack didn't waste time thinking about it, just fell gratefully forward into the safe enclosure of his arms. He clenched his eyes closed, face pressed against Spencer's chest. He felt Spencer tighten his arms around him and he shivered, touching his hands to Spencer's stomach and telling himself it was for the warmth of his body, the safety of his hold, the knowledge that Spencer was here and whole and that his nightmare was just that, a nightmare, and that it had no bearing on their real life situation.

"I'm here for you, Zack," Spencer said softly, his words brushing through his hair as he tucked Zack's head beneath his chin. "You know that, don't you?" 

Zack felt the last of the tension slip from his body, relaxing himself fully against Spencer's hold. He hummed his acknowledgement, fingers gripping loosely at Spencer's shirt as sleep began to take hold of him once more.

"I'll always be here for you." Spencer whispered, sliding a hand the length of his torso to settle against the small of his back. "Always."

 

**end.**


End file.
